Resurrection
by ajattra
Summary: Aliens. Ripley reaches out to Hicks to gain back a piece of herself she's lost after being victimized by the aliens. Ripley/Hicks


**RESURRECTION**

* * *

><p>They are hanging on a razor's edge, biding their time until the creatures attack next and steal another precious life to sustain their merciless and perverse life cycle. The guns blaze in the dark, sensing even the slightest movement in the narrow corridor that stands between the humans and the aliens. All they have now is hope and prayer, and Ripley hasn't subscribed to either in a long time, so when Hicks pulls her a bit further away from the others and asks her to patrol with him, she knows he's picked her, because she's only one, who truly realizes what they're up against. He can use her eyes.<p>

She flings the gun on her shoulder, leaving Newt in the care of Hudson, while Gorman and Vasquez argue strategy and eventually begin to resort to slander. Hicks walks her through the tunnels, always a step ahead, making sure he's the one that gets hit, if an attack occurs. Her head is aching with sleep deprivation and hunger, but she forces herself to focus, knowing what the outcome of a distracted mind will be; she'll only end up sharing the fate of her crew and Hicks' team mates.

Nothing makes noise in these corridors, except for dripping water and their heavy and slow steps. The Colony has been ravaged, rendering everything around them ruined or malfunctioning under normal circumstances. Under these circumstances, the melted walls and bolted doors will have to suffice.

Eventually the silence begins to feel unnerving, and Ripley's mind wanders back to the Nostromo and its hauntingly quiet halls, where the creature stalked her. She tries to focus on anything but those memories, and finds herself looking at Hicks' armor. She can make out pictures on its rugged surface: doodles made by bored soldiers and drunken victors. He's been hardened by those experiences and he's hunted many other extraterrestrials, but even his eyes widened in horror for a moment when he realized what the aliens can do.

Now those silent eyes are observing her, as he's stopped to see why she isn't responding to him. There's something else in his observant glare though, perhaps admiration. He's dirty and tired, but underneath his tough exterior, there's also something soft and carefree. He didn't think much of this mission beforehand, but now he's focused and deadly set on survival. Still there's room for feeling on his worn face. Having gone on more than a few deep space runs, she can recognize this hankering easily.

"Stay focused," he says, turning his back again.

He doesn't treat her any differently from the rest of the crew, but he does look at her with a different set of eyes. Hicks is the kind of person, who pushes his feelings aside until the time is right. Ripley can appreciate that, knowing that this is the worst kind of timing to be making advances, but she finds herself wishing he would make them anyway; partly because there might not be a second chance for that, and partly because she hasn't had the pleasure of intimacy for a long time now.

It tends to screw with your sexual life, when you've nearly been raped by a motherfucking alien in space and witnessed a close friend give birth to one of those at your dinner table. The nightmares still haunt her. But Hicks understands that sick feeling in your gut, that fear of being too vulnerable, too open for attack. He understands the fear of intimacy; because your body begins to scream each time you cough too strongly.

This hasn't broken him yet, but only served to make him stronger. He's taken the lead, chosen survival over comfort and pushed himself onward relentlessly. And Ripley, she hasn't felt like a human being for a long time now. Her whole life before meeting the alien feels like a pleasant dream she's half forgotten, and this nightmare stretches on and on. She just wants a piece of that dream – that light – back in her life, even if it's just for a moment before she dies; anything to feel like she's not a victim anymore.

If they'd met under different circumstances, she doesn't think they would've clicked at all, but this draining fight has peeled off the useless layers of shit and charm, and left nothing but their bare core at display, and she likes what she's looking at. She can tell he likes to steal glances at her too, that he's somewhat smitten with her, and has been since she showed her skills with the power loader on the Sulaco. He's the one person in their midst she trusts completely.

She hears a noise, stopping in her tracks and pointing the gun at the wall, her eyes searching for the origin of the disturbance, but finding nothing. Hicks is by her side in just a few seconds, gun steady in his hand, his eyes following hers. But there's nothing here, just burnt wall and dripping water. Slowly he moves his hand over the barrel of her gun and lowers it.

Her body is frozen stiff from the adrenaline and her heartbeat is still crazy. Hicks turns to look at her face next, his expression unreadable otherwise, but clearly worried. "Ripley," he calls her name, and gets her to look back at him, "C'mon, there's nothing out there."

But she doesn't move; he's closer to her than before, and she can make out the details of his frowning face when the helmet isn't covering it. The corridor is better lit than their base of operations. She can feel a jolt in her stomach, but her flirting smile doesn't appear no matter how much she thinks about it. It doesn't feel right.

Hicks is reading her face though, and he takes a step closer, leaning in to kiss her. She sinks into the kiss eagerly, not wanting to appear too willing, but unable to help herself. This is exactly the kind of distraction they don't need right now, but neither of them backs down now. The foreplay has gone on long enough.

Sweat and dirt and something sour form the base of the taste of his saliva, but she doesn't mind. She knows her nervous smoking usually makes her lips taste like nicotine and it's no big turn on either. When he finally pulls away, her only regret is that she didn't push him harder.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Hicks whispers, sounding intense and out of breath. "I know," she responds, before she kisses him again, chasing that piece of her old life he can give her.

Their guns click together when the kiss turns into an embrace and their hands start to wander. Ripley discards her gun first, knowing that she's got a handgun steady, in case trouble calls. Hicks isn't eager to let go of his gun, so he simply throws it on his back and pushes her against the wall. No smiles or any kind of reassurance is exchanged between them. They both know what they want and that there's no time for gentleness, or wooing. It has to be quick for the sake of them both, but it can be enough.

It doesn't take much to get him ready; just those deep kisses with tongue and teeth grazing. Her hands are down on the front of his pants, opening them. She doesn't touch his armor, or any other clothing; it's better to leave it in place. He continues to kiss her, unwilling to touch anything below her neck for now. His hands are on the both sides of her face though, tilting her head to gain better access to her mouth.

When she gets his pants open, she moves onto hers, opening just enough for him to gain access. He yanks his underwear down enough and she pulls hers aside. He buries his face in her neck when he enters her, landing his hands on her hips. Ripley wraps one leg around him, giving her better access, while he groans and enters her again with slow thrusts.

For a moment she forgets about the danger, the darkness, and allows herself to be immersed in the act, in him. Hicks isn't talking, but his body tells her all she needs to know. He's tense with arousal and fear, ready to bolt at any moment and reach for his gun. He makes her focus on the sweetness, the feel of something good inside her, instead of the all devouring fear she's been evading all this time. He feels good between her legs, each truth bringing her closer to release, to rebirth, so she can leave the Ripley, who watched her crew die helplessly, behind.

Hicks releases one hand from her ass and brings it to her breast, which he can feel clearly through her shirt. He feels it, making her respond with a grunt that slides into a moan. He whishes they were doing this under different circumstances, like he'd planned, but cannot bring himself to stop, even if it's the smart thing to do.

The light is nearing at the end of the tunnel; Ripley feels its tendrils around her, pulling her up. His breathing has become sharper and pearls of sweat twirl down his forehead. He looks like's holding it in, waiting for her, and for that Ripley finds she's quite grateful. She has her hands around his neck, fingers curled in his hair, head banging against the wall with each stroke, when she feels her release come in an instant. It leaves her dry and thirsty behind, but her head feels easier. The darkness subsides.

Hicks comes a moment later, his shoulders collapsing after he stops and exhales deep before pulling out. Their joint moment is short when their eyes meet and they both read satisfaction from each other's face. They begin to fix their clothes back into their places right after, ready in mere minutes.

The air doesn't feel as heavy and confining as it did before when they continue their patrol.

fin


End file.
